


A Logical Return

by walkandtalk



Series: A Logical Match 'verse [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Easter, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Oblivious Jim, Post Star Trek: Into Darkness, Pre-Slash, References to Underage Drinking, Romantic Friendship, Star Trek: Into Darkness Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:56:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkandtalk/pseuds/walkandtalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternately titled: A Very Chekov Easter: Prequel to A Logical Match</p><p>Jim gets front row seats to one of Spock's emotional epiphanies, but doesn't notice, of course.</p><p>Inspired by Jim's remark to Spock about awkward family dinners involving our favorite Navigator and his large family.  This could still stand alone.  Set directly after STID</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mashed Potatoes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sealy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sealy), [MonikerHazard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonikerHazard/gifts).



> This is set just after STID, approximately 5 months before A Logical Match, so Spock and Uhura are still a "thing."
> 
> I always imagined that Spock had a slow, dawning realization of his true feelings. This is part of that story.
> 
> This is for sealy, who asked to hear about the Easter story (with Sulu), and MonikerHazard who was my first (and very sweet) reviewer, who wanted to play Vulcan Trivial Pursuit. And for everyone who loves an Oblivious!Kirk. Thanks for the brain candy that fed this story.

Jim suspected, not for the first time, that his crew was up to something.  Despite a clean bill of mental health and a rapid recovery from death, there was not a single waking moment that a crew member of the Enterprise was not there to babysit him.  They wouldn’t insult him by calling it babysitting, no, no, the phrase was “hospital visiting hours” that somehow extended well past the facility’s posted times.  With Winona still somewhere in deep space, Sam and Aurelan in some backwater colony, his crew were the only visitors he had.  He was grateful for the camaraderie, he was humbled by their loyalty, but he was suspicious.  Something was going on.

Spock was at his bedside first and returned the most often.  He claimed he had such minimal needs for rest that the late night chess matches, updates on the ship repairs, and crew gossip (debriefings, Spock called them) didn’t seem unusual.

Sulu would bring his gaming chips and challenge him to Halo: XXV and beat him every single time.

Carol Marcus sat in awkward near-silence, holding back tears.  She only visited once.

Scotty, when he could be coaxed away from ship repairs, would sneak in pulled pork sandwiches from the BBQ joint down the street, which Bones pretended he didn’t see.  Even Dr. Leonard McCoy knew one could not survive on Jell-O and hospital grade mashed potatoes alone.

Uhura visited a few times, smuggling in some tools and some not-quite-ready-for-release comm equipment, knowing Jim’s love of tinkering.  Despite Jim’s protests that his attempt to upgrade the equipment could be deemed theraputic for recovering his hand-eye coordination, the items were smuggled right back to Starfleet when he rigged the communication device send haunted ghost noises to Bones’ comm when whenever he was within a meter of the blonde nurse from med/surg.

Chekov, boy genius and avid chess player (apparently, the game originated in Russia) would play a few rounds, but also would bring other board games like Go, Scrabble, and Kal-Toh.  Jim hadn’t played many boardgames growing up, but Chekov came from a large family with many extremely bright siblings to play with during long Russian winters.

Other crew members would stop by, some providing a happy distraction.  Others, like Carol, were barely able to keep it together, but Jim could admit to himself it was good to see them, too.  Each time his mind wandered to dark thoughts it just took that little reminder of the Enterprise, of who he had died for, that reminded him he needed to get back to it as quickly as possible.  Perhaps he needed the babysitting: as evidence of his deteriorating patience for being cooped up, on his last morning his First Officer found him alone with a hyperspanner, seven spoons, and some wiring and computer parts ripped from one of the medical scanners.

“It’s survival practice, Spock,” Jim explained.  “If you can bring me the mashed potatoes from the cafeteria, I think I’ll have the adhesive I’d need to make a functional distress signal.”

“Survival practice for what conditions?”  Spock looked around the room, as if seeing it in a new, sinister light.  “Do you believe you will find yourself stranded or imprisoned within a medical facility?”

“Wouldn’t be the weirdest situation we’ve been in,” Jim said brightly, fiddling with a relay.  “I just need to keep my mind busy, it’s good practice for when we get back out there.  Sulu swiped the spoons for me, Scotty had the spare hyperspanner, and now _you_ ,” Jim dropped his voice down to a stage-whispered, “go steal some mashed potatoes.  Hurry, before Bones comes to check on me.”

Spock merely raised an eyebrow.  “Is there anything else I can retrieve for you, Captain?  Some stone knives, perhaps a bear skin?”

Jim grinned.  “Sarcasm, Commander?  You’ve been spending too much time in here with me, people will start to talk.”  Spock’s face shuttered a little at that.  How had Jim gotten to the point when he could read Spock well enough to know that blank just became blanker?  “Thanks, but the bearskins are for my next project.”

“Bearskins for what?” Bones called from Jim's right, walking into the room.  His eyes immediately found the small cart with the spoons and other illicit materials, and glared.  “No, Jim.  You didn’t.  You’ve got to stop that right now.”

“You always take away my fun,” Jim complained, shoving the cart half-heartedly toward Bones, ending up in front of Spock.

“Just for that, I’m delaying your medical discharge papers,” Bones said, holding up a PADD.  “All these need are my signature, but I feel a hand cramp coming on.”

A smile bloomed on Jim’s face.  “Today?  You mean it?”

Bones mock-glared, shaking his hand, feigning injury.  “Not sure yet.  Where’d the hyperspanner come from?”

Jim made eye contact with Spock, and then with the annoyed doctor, plastering his best innocent look to his face.  “Bones, calm down, it’s not what it looks like, honest.  Just where would I get a hyperspanner, anyway?  I promised you I'd stop playing with the electronics, remember?”

“I know you are using it to fuse the spoons--” Bones looked over to the cart, absent of hyperspanner and any incriminating medical equipment parts.  He glared at the Vulcan next to it.  “Et tu, Spock?  You can’t save him from everything,” Bones warned darkly.  Spock merely stared back, as if saying _It has worked thus far_.

“C’mon Bonesy,” Jim said, knowing it would just infuriate his friend more.  “If you don’t sign that, I’ll have to start a new project.  Think about what I could rig up with a few hyposprays and a isolitic converter.”  Jim rubbed his hands together like a mad scientist.  A mad scientist that Bones did not want to babysit or cover for.

Bones rolled his eyes, signing the PADD and handing it over to Spock.  “He’s all yours, and good riddance.”  Spock nodded, taking the PADD and Bones spun on his heels.  “Try not to give Spock too much grief, kid.”

Spock kept his eyes on the PADD, as if Jim’s discharge papers had confidential Romulan transmissions.

“He just gave me over to you for safekeeping, didn’t he?” Jim said dully, watching the retreating back of McCoy exit the room.

“You are being released into my care, as a condition of your discharge,” Spock said evenly, finally looking up, perhaps looking a little nervous.  “I had thought Dr. McCoy explained this to you.”

“Nope,” Jim said, bouncing off the bed and reaching for the duffle bag under his bed that had been packed for days.  “So, your place or mine?”

Spock didn’t deign to acknowledge the double meaning, his thumb tracing the side of the PADD.  “My father still maintains a dwelling near Starfleet headquarters, if that is suitable.”

Jim shrugged, walking out the door.  “You kidding?  Anywhere would be better than here.”

“Vulcans do not kid,” Spock reminded him.

“And now you're lying," Jim said cheerily.  "You are defintely hanging around me too much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle readers, it's a short beginning, but I have the end mostly written, it's the middle parts that keep adding more ideas.
> 
> Please tell me someone got my nod to TOS (bearskins? knives? ha! I'm easily amused)
> 
> All errors are my own. Thank you for any comments, feedback, or mashed potatoes. Keeps me sane :-)


	2. Lasagna

Spock and Jim took a transport to a posh neighborhood with that bordered the south corner of Starfleet’s campus.  The area was favored by dignitaries and Starfleet elite, not a place a cadet like Jim would have visited.

“Did you stay here when you were on Earth?” Jim asked, eyeing the large homes, trying to picture Spock in this neighborhood.

Spock nodded.  “Occasionally, as a child.  For a year, as a cadet, I resided here, alone.  After I became more acclimated to Human contact I took residence in the dormitories.  I stay here occasionally during shore leave.”

“Not sure I would have wanted to leave this for the Academy dorms,” Jim said, following Spock to a palatial looking home flanked by water fountains and topiaries.

“I doubt I would have been able to effectively cohabitate on the Enterprise had I not left,” Spock said, keying the door open.  “This dwelling offers the luxury of solitude, not something available upon a starship of diverse species.”

Jim had sometimes wondered how difficult it was for Spock to live among such touchy-feely beings such as Humans and the kind of mental discipline it required on a starship, with no place to truly escape.  Maybe that was why Spock tagged along on so many away missions with Jim, even though he was such a stickler for the ‘Fleet _strongly worded suggestions_.  Surely Spock could have just stayed behind when Jim insisted on leaving so often.  Perhaps it was tied to something like a chance to get away from four hundred crewmembers for a few moments of mental peace?

Jim entered the elegantly appointed foyer of the home, and still couldn't picture Spock spending any time in this house.  An ornate double staircase twisted down to immaculate marble floors with a mosaic of star systems inlaid within it.  Jim was afraid to walk any further.  “You have a beautiful home,” Jim said, his corn-fed midwestern manners kicking in.

“It originally belonged to a Denobulan diplomat and her three husbands,” Spock said absently, walking across the floor.  The mosaic rippled with bright blue light around his feet as he walked, a neat visual effect, making it look like he was walking on water.  Certainly not a logical feature a Vulcan would have installed in his home.  Jim followed, slightly entranced by the patterns his own feet were making on the floor.

Spock led him up the stairs to a bedroom just to the right of the staircase.  “I trust this is adequate,” Spock said, stepping aside to let Jim walk into the bedroom.  “I do not believe my father has had cause to use this room since he acquired it, but it has been kept clean.”

Jim huffed in amusement.  “Certainly beats the digs ‘Fleet provides,” he said, taking in the expansive room.  A huge bed, far larger than any typically seen in a Human home (probably typical for Denobulans, Jim remembered) sat opposite french doors that opened onto a balcony.  A door on the other wall looked like it led into a bathroom- was that a jacuzzi tub?  Definitely not a Vulcan home, Jim decided, setting his dufflebag on a dresser.  He caught his reflection in the mirror hanging above it and winced.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me I look like death warmed over?” Jim said, running his fingers over the side of his face, feeling the days old scruff gathering there.  His hair was too long and his skin still had its unhealthy mottled bleach texture that looked even worse now that he was in a room with natural light.

“Perhaps it would seem impolite, under the circumstances,” Spock replied, making eye contact in the reflection of the mirror.  Jim gave him a wry smile.  He could always count on his First Officer for the unvarnished truth.  “If you would like, I will leave you to settle in.  I can have lunch ready downstairs at 1200 hours?”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Jim agreed and Spock turned around to leave.  As soon as Spock closed the door, he shucked out of his clothes, leaving them on the floor and headed straight to the bathroom.  He turned on the tap for the impractically large (unless you were in a plural marriage, like the previous owners) jacuzzi tub, surprised to find familiar soaps and gels already laid out for him on the bathroom counter.

One hour later, Jim reemerged feeling like a human being again.  He had shaved, taken a long soak in the tub, enjoying the pressure from the jets.  The heat from the water gave him a healthy pink look.  His hair was still too long, so he’d have to venture out soon for a haircut.  He dug in the duffle for some casual clothes, donning some jeans and an old Academy t-shirt.  Barefoot, he walked out the french doors onto the balcony.  The large lawn peppered with some statues or decorative plants was bordered by tall hedges. Jim wondered who took care of this place, it was certainly too large for Spock to take care of by himself.  Jim made his way back downstairs, looking for the Lord of the Manor.

He found Spock downstairs, still dressed in his ‘Fleet uniform, hovering over a computer console in a study off the foyer.  Jim lightly knocked on the doorway and Spock looked up, eyes quickly cataloging Jim’s appearance.

“You found the bathroom amenities suitable?” he said, fingers poised above the screen.

Jim leaned in the doorway, trying not to look lost and desperate for a distraction.  “Yeah, thanks.  You even managed to find the right shampoo.”

“Dr. McCoy provided me a list of suitable toiletries,” Spock said, moving his attention back to the screen.  He paused and then looked up again.  “Would you like to assist me?”

Jim perked up immediately.  “Sure,” he said, walking into the room, peering over Spock’s shoulder onto the console.  “What are you working on?”

“Mr. Scott has sent an ambitious proposal for a refit of the astrometrics lab,” Spock said, stepping to allow Jim access to the screen.  Jim jumped right in, skimming the plans.

“Now that,” Jim said, eyes alight with the possibilities, “is awesome.  What if we moved the geological pods down to section seven and--”

“I agree,” Spock said, following Jim's train of thought.  “However, we would need an additional two cubic meters of space to install that component.  I had suggested the section directly adjacent--”

“Sick bay?”

“-- could be refitted with minimal space, and still provide the medical staff with an optimal working environment.”

“You want to tell Bones you are going to invade on his territory?” Jim said, knowing how the doctor would feel about that.

“I believe Dr. McCoy could be persuaded that refit would be in the entire ship’s best interest,” Spock said pointedly.

“That means you want me to tell him,” Jim said, arms folded.

“If I thought the doctor could be moved by the logic of the situation, I would speak to him myself.”

Jim sighed, looking longingly at Scotty’s proposal, the tempting prospect of having one of the best astrometrics labs in the entire fleet.  All for just a few measly cubic meters of space.

“Okay,” Jim said, raising a warning finger to to the Vulcan.  “But keep in mind, you owe me big time.”

Spock reached into his pocket, and withdrew a hyperspanner and bits of computer parts, setting them on the desk in front of Jim.  “I suggest that we can call this even, Captain.”

Jim grinned, picking up the hyperspanner and spinning it between his fingers.  “Fair enough.”

\---

Somewhere between the continued discussions of retrofitting the Enterprise and lunch, Spock had reconfiscated the hyperspanner without Jim noticing.

“I doubt you will have need of a hyperspanner or any tools while you are a guest in my home,” Spock said, gesturing Jim to take a seat at the kitchen island.

“I can be trusted not to disassemble any of your kitchen appliances,” Jim said.  “I am mostly free now, so I can truly promise to behave.”

“I have no doubt you will behave,” Spock said.  “The question is, behave like what?”  Jim gave his best “good boy” grin, which only made Spock's eye twitch.

Spock turned to the mostly empty foodfresher, where there were a stack of containers labeled SPOCK or JAMES, kept at a perfect serving temperature.

“The housekeeper has taken the liberty of preparing meals for us,” Spock explained.  “She assured me that she is familiar with Human cuisine, but there is a replicator if you desire something else.”

Spock handed him a container of lasagna and garlic bread.  “Looks delicious,” Jim said, and immediately dug in.  Spock took his seat next to Jim at the island and delicately ate his stirfried vegetables.

“Thank you, for going through all this trouble,” Jim said, breaking the comfortable silence.

“It is no trouble,” Spock replied.  “Ms. Iklo enjoys cooking.”

“No, not just for the food,” he said, putting his fork down.  “For keeping me occupied while I was stuck in that room, for letting me camp out here so I could leave early.  I didn’t think I had anyone, besides Bones, who would do that for me.”

Spock paused, seemed to consider his words.  “On the contrary, you have many friends, as evidenced by the last two weeks.”

Jim shook his head.  “No, I have many loyal crewmembers, and among them, a few friends.  Not every friend would want me crashing on their couch, so to speak, when they could be enjoying shore leave in solitude,” Jim said, trying not overwhelm his stoic friend with his Human emotions of gratitude.

“I found the solitude dissatisfying,” Spock replied, resuming his meal.  Jim smiled, knowing that was as good of a _I’m happy you are here, I would miss you_  as he was going to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone imagining Spock at a Walgreens, picking up Jim's brand of toothpaste? I melt for domestic spirk :-)
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and feedback. Lasagna for everyone!


	3. Orange Juice

The next days were quiet, but in a comfortable way.  Jim could always find something to do: catch up on messages, read endless reports, exercise in the ridiculously large personal gym.  Other times, he would seek out Spock.  The Vulcan slept rarely, meditated occasionally, and was otherwise always occupied in an activity that Jim would insinuate himself into, and he didn’t seem to mind.  They would almost always have their meals together and then repeat the odd rhythm they had adopted.

Biometric readings were sent to Bones twice a day, per doctor’s orders.  He took Bones’ cocktail of drugs every night and slept soundly.  Chekov and he were in a remote match of Kadis-Kot.  Uhura was ignoring his pleas for the schematics of that comm unit that he was playing with.   No one felt the need to physically babysit him, and that made Jim feel like maybe whatever unsettling feeling he had about his crew’s plotting was laid to rest.

Winona was able to get a transmission through for a few minutes, a gentle mixture of affection and exasperation over the constant fear from the knowledge that Kirk luck was known to give out eventually.  She knew the basics of what happened, but the details were classified.

“Don’t suppose you’d consider a desk job, now that you’ve cashed in all your hero chips?” she said.  Her hair was getting broad streaks of grey.  Jim didn’t remember when that had happened.

“Not on your life.  They’ve announced the five year mission, Spock and I are making a bid for it,” Jim said, sharing a grin with his mother.  She understood that, always did.  George Kirk was the ghost-hero captain, but Winona was the living inspiration for exploration.

“So are you seeing anyone, Jimmy?”

“Ma...,” Jim sighed, rolling his eyes.  As far as Winona knew, Jim hadn’t “seen” anyone since the disaster that was his high school prom, which was probably true, depending on your definition of the word.  “I don’t have time for that, you know how it is.”

“You are living proof that it is not impossible to find the time,” she said, eyes full of humor.  “Just promise your old mom one thing, Jimmy.  Don’t run off and elope like Sam did.  I deserve at least one beautiful wedding in my lifetime.”

Jim barked a laugh.  “Like I’d ever get married.”

“Promise me,” she insisted, steel in her voice.

“Sure, Ma,” Jim said, shaking his head in disbelief.  “I promise, a great big wedding, with the white dress and flowers and everything.  You’ll be in the front row.”

\----

Things were slowly getting back to normal.  Jim sometimes found himself in dark thoughts, but frequented that place in his mind less and less.  He was feeling stronger in general, and feeling better about everything.

But he had not left Spock’s house.  Jim didn’t want to think on why that was, but no one was pushing the issue, either.  Spock sometimes left for meetings, but Jim was still technically on sick leave, so he was on a reprieve from that.

Jim woke on the third morning very early.  He wasn’t a natural early riser, but he was starving.  In a daze, he stumbled out of bed and walked downstairs to the kitchen.  He opened the foodfresher, eyeing the neatly stacked containers.  He found one that looked like orange juice, opened it, but was able to put enough brain cells together to remember to find a glass before taking a swig out of it.  Spock would probably throw a Vulcan fit if Jim got his cooties on the OJ.

He closed the door of the foodfresher and startled at the sound of a woman’s scream almost directly in his ear.  He dropped the carton of juice, splashing it down his front.  He may have tried to go for a non-existent phaser, belatedly forgetting he was only in his boxers.

He turned to find an Orion woman with short strawberry hair, arms full of groceries, looking like a angry Gorn materialized in the kitchen.  James held up his hands in surrender.  “I only wanted juice.”

“You must be James,” she said weakly.  “You startled me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim said, bending to retrieve the now-empty juice container.

“Here, let me get a towel,” she said, dropping the bags of groceries on the counter and grabbing a dishcloth from a drawer.  Before Jim could protest, she reached over to wipe the sticky residue down his front.  Jim flushed, and tried to take the towel from the stranger.

“Is there a problem?” a clipped voice rang from the doorway.

Jim looked over at Spock, his hands behind his back in a parade rest, observing the scene as if he had walked in on a pair of cadets canoodling and was ready to deliver a reprimand.  Jim snatched his hand away from the towel, which probably only added to the effect of feeling like he was being caught by the Easily Annoyed Vulcan Professor.  Not that Jim ever had been caught by Spock in his Academy days, but he was fairly certain it could have looked just like this.  As explanation, he held up the empty orange juice container.  “Just dropped the juice.”

“I heard a scream,” Spock said, eyes darting over to the Orion woman, who seemed to pale, turning a pastel green.  Jim could see her shudder.

“Yeah,” Jim said quickly, before she could say anything, “You know I shouldn’t be awake before 0800, the sight would make anyone scream.”

“Indeed,” Spock said.  “When you are finished, I could you your assistance in the study, Jim.”  And with that, he walked out the door.   _Jim_?  What had he done to earn a _Jim_?  The last and only other time was when he woke from the dead.  If Spock was Human, he’d say it was a message to the Orion that Jim was Spock's business.  Jim mentally snorted: Vulcan and emotionally territorial did not go together.

When he was sure he was out of Vulcan ear-shot, he shot her a reassuring grin.  “You okay?”

The woman smiled faintly, nodding.  Color slowly started to return to her face.  “How about we start over again?  I’m Jim Kirk,” he said, holding out a hand.

“Megile Ilko,” she said, shaking the offered hand.  “I am the housekeeper.  I’m sorry for...” she gestured to Jim with the towel.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jim said, grabbing his own dishcloth from the drawer and quickly wiping down his legs.  Megile quickly cleaned the floor and started to unpack the groceries, leaving a new juice carton out for Jim.

“Thanks,” Jim said, pouring a glass and handing it back to Megile to put away.  “You know, he scares the piss out of most of my crew.  It’s not just you.”

Megile looked back at him, confused. “You are speaking of Master Spock?”

 _Master Spock_?  Oh, Jim was going to have fun ribbing his First Officer about that one.  “Sure, it’s part of his charm,” Jim continued, reminiscing fondly.  “He once made a crewman faint during an inspection of the shuttlecraft.  I think he would have transferred at the first opportunity if Spock hadn’t scared him off that, too.”

“I do not find him intimidating,” she said softly, green cheeks flushing greener.

 _Oh._  Jim had certainly misinterpreted that one.

He hadn't seen any harm in casually noticing that Spock held a certain brooding yet commanding sexual appeal.  While Jim drew the line at merely observing from a distance, other people did not, if Uhura’s jealous streak during a certain shore leave to Risa was anything to go by.

“Please don’t tell--” Megile said, eyes darting to the door.

“Nah, I get it,” Jim assured her, standing to put his empty glass away.  “Your secret is safe with me.”  He winked, and went to go get dressed and find the Vulcan chick-magnet.

“You summoned me, _Master_ Spock?” Jim asked.

Spock didn’t roll his eyes, but Jim had gotten adept at inferring from Spock’s minimal facial expressions that he was only vaguely annoyed.  “I see you have spoken to Ms. Ilko.”

“Megile seems lovely,” Jim said, settingling down on the chair he had started to think of as “his.”  “But I’ve always have had a soft spot for someone who can make lasagna.”

“I hope she was not inappropriate.”

“What?  No, no, I just spilled juice, she was trying to help,” Jim said, eyebrows furrowing.  “It really was just an accident.”

Spock merely nodded, changing the subject abruptly.  “We received a message from Starfleet last night.”  Spock handed him a PADD.

Jim read the first line, and his jaw dropped.  “We got it?” Jim looked up, and Spock nodded, looking incredibly pleased.  “We got the mission,” he reiterated, and Spock nodded again.  He laughed.  “We are going to deep space.  Five years of uncharted space.”

“Yes, Captain.”  Spock quirked an eyebrow, apparently amused at Jim’s shock.

“Spock?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“We need to celebrate.”

\----

Oddly, Spock was easy to convince that he and the senior staff and bridge crew should assemble at the ‘Fleet favored drinking establishment for a celebration of their new orders.  Spock referred to it as a “ _timely and appropriate gathering to benefit crew morale._ ”  Jim send a message to the the appropriate people and made his way to the personal gym while he was still on this emotional high.   It wasn’t until Jim was halfway through his workout that it occurred to him that it was also the first time that Jim suggested that he leave the house.  Which was fine, he felt ready, was more than ready to get back out there, he decided.  No better time for it, really, being among the best people he knew.

“Congratulations, Captain,” a voice called from the doorway of the gym.

Jim slowed treadmill, and looked over to find Uhura, dressed casually in a bright sundress and sandals.  “Lieutenant!  Don’t suppose you came with a present from the communications department?”

She suppressed a smile, rolling her eyes.  “Actually, I’m here to see Spock.  Do you know where he is?”

Jim jumped off the treadmill and threw a towel around his neck.  “I think he’s meditating.”

“Oh,” she said, obviously deflated.  Did she stop by uninvited?

“But hey, I was going to have lunch, why don’t you join me?” he asked, walking toward the door.  “Spock sometimes will stop to have lunch with me.  Maybe the sounds from the kitchen will lure him out this time.”

Uhura smiled, following Jim up to the kitchen.  He opened the foodfresher and found new neatly stacked containers marked JAMES.  “Megile makes a great lasagna,” he said.  “Or there’s turkey sandwiches.”

“Either sounds great,” she said, taking a seat at the island.  “Who is Megile?”

“The housekeeper, a really nice Orion woman,” Jim said, surprised that Uhura didn’t know this.  He had assumed that Uhura hadn’t visited because they were meeting on Spock’s rare trips to Starfleet, but was starting to think that Uhura hadn’t seen much of her boyfriend.

“I’m sure you were charmed,” she replied sarcastically.

“Of course,” he said, handing her a container.  “However, I don’t think I’m her type.”

She narrowed her eyes, and Jim belatedly remembered that the Communications Officer was once described as “intuitive to a creepy degree.”  She had an Orion roommate at the Academy, and probably knew why Jim wouldn’t register on the immediate radar of a healthy Orion woman.

“So, you’re coming tonight?” Jim said, hoping a change in conversation might distract her.  Uhura nodded, watching Jim walk around the kitchen, grabbing silverware and glasses.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the galaxy.  You’ve settled in,” Uhura noted, accepting a beverage.

“Yeah, Spock’s been great about letting me stay here,” Jim said, taking a seat.  “I thought I would drive him nuts, you know?”

“You aren’t?” she asked, taking a bite of her lasagna.  “Vulcans dislike cohabitating with non-family members.”

Jim nodded, “Yeah, but he said he got over it.  How else was he going to life on the Enterprise?”

“Vulcans see physical space differently than humans do,” Uhura said.  “He’d view this entire house as his personal quarters, and you’re in them.  That’s a big deal.”

“So I’m in the inner sanctum?” Jim said, grinning.  “Was there an initiation ceremony I missed?”

Uhura cast her eyes down to her plate, her mouth in a frown.  “I wouldn’t know, would I?”

Jim could hear the bitter note, and realized he really put his foot in his mouth.  “Uhura, I didn’t mean--”

“No, it’s okay, I shouldn't have said that,” Uhura said with a sigh.  “There’s been a lot going on, since we caught Khan, more than Spock's told you and--”

“Nyota?” Uhura stopped, and they both looked to find Spock standing in the doorway, looking displeased.  “May I speak with you?”

Uhura set her fork down, giving Jim a glance that seemed to read _Here we go again_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm guessing Winona doesn't forget Jim's promises.


	4. Fried Pickles

Jim sat alone in the kitchen, listening to the sound of footsteps retreat into Spock’s study and a door closing.  He stared at his turkey sandwich for a moment, then stood up.  This was bullshit.

He could hear muffled voices from the foyer, and the voices became clearer.  He stood a pace away, figuring if he was this far from the door, it wouldn’t necessarily be eavesdropping.  Technically.  He still had to strain to hear the voices.

“Don’t you think he deserves to know?” Uhura’s said clearly, anger evident in her voice.  Jim’s suspicions were confirmed.  This wasn’t a lover’s spat, they were talking about him.

Spock’s answer was harder to hear.  “.... recovering comfortably... has all the information he needs.”

“He’s going to see it as as a lie,” Uhura said.  Spock murmured a reply.  “He will want to know,” she insisted.

Deciding he had heard enough, Jim backed away from the door to walk back to his room.  As he was halfway up the stairs, the study door opened and Uhura walked out.  Jim turned around, meeting her eyes briefly, taken aback.  She was visibly upset.

“Leaving so soon?” Jim asked, confused.  

Uhura just smiled stiffly.  “I’ll see you tonight, Captain,” and she walked out.

Spock appeared in the doorway of the study, hands behind his back, observing Uhura walk out the door.  He turned back, noticing Jim on the stairs.  “Is there a problem?” Jim asked, mimicking Spock’s tone from this morning during the Great Juice Incident.

“No, Captain,” Spock replied blankly, and returned to the study.

Again, Jim called bullshit.  He knew his crew up to something.  Something involving him.

(--- Nyota’s eyes---)

“What the hell was that about?”  Nyota hissed when Spock closed the door.  Spock’s eyes widened, taken aback at her sudden temper.  She always matched Spock’s calm and cool demeanor in an disagreement.  However, she spent the last month being pushed away, and she was tired of it.  Spock straightened his posture, and she was taken back to a year ago, when she was a cadet.

“You were about to discuss a private matter with the Captain.  It is I that should speak with him about this matter.”

“Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

“The captain is recovering comfortably.  At this time, he has all the information he needs.”

“He’s going to see it as a lie,” she said.

“He is recovering,” Spock reiterated, as if that absolved him of the sin of omission.

“He will want to know,” she insisted, “I would want to know if I was...” and she trailed off, afraid to speak the word she heard Spock whisper once, in a hospital room weeks ago.  

_T’hy’la._

There is little in the xenolinguistics database to shed light on the word, some vague description of “friend, brother, or lover.”  While she doesn’t know _what_ T’hy’la is, she knows _why_.  It is why Spock would not leave the hospital for more than three hours at a time while Kirk was in critical condition.  It was why Kirk was here now.  It was why they were having this fight.

Spock’s face softened infinitesimally.  “Nyota, this has not changed our relationship.”

No, it hadn’t, which was the crux of the issue.

“Please, Nyota,” Spock continued.  “I ask you again, do not interfere.  I will tell the Captain when it needs to be said.  This is ours to deal with.”

Nyota stared at him, seeing him in a new light.  Panicked, she nodded robotically and made her excuses to leave.  

Why hadn’t she noticed that everytime Kirk was involved, Spock was on the defense for their Captain, even against her?  Always protecting him, like the a dark hero in a Terran fairytale.

With Spock, Nyota played the offense, always chasing, coaxing, the aggressor in every domain of their relationship.  Her attempts to win a first date was a month-long battle plan, she mentally catalogued every behavior pattern, exploited every personal quirk, until she finally convinced him to join her for dinner.  When Spock walked through the door of the restaurant, it tasted like victory.  She was hooked on that feeling, would eventually realize she mistook it for lust.  Every physical liberty he allowed was a triumph, every caress was like claiming new territory on his skin.  Maybe this was love: a constant striving to gain more from the Vulcan.  She hadn't been sure.

And people wondered why she was so possessive.

They fought before, of course.  Kirk had wondered what it was like, to fight with Spock.  If Nyota felt like telling, she would say it was a quiet, calm, almost congenial.  Spock silently held his ground and Nyota wasn’t about to relinquish any of hers, not even for the righteous anger and hurt over Spock’s disregard for the emotions of others.  She was able to hold it in until they were almost alone.  With Kirk.  Which probably should have been her first hint.

Days later, when Nyota was able to reflect clearly on all of this, she came to three conclusions:

1\.  She was worthy of more, worthy of it given freely.  Whatever it was she had with Spock was not what she wanted.

2\.  She was tired of still chasing Spock, and ending it didn’t equal defeat.

3\.  Spock was definitely in love with Kirk.

(-------)

That evening, Spock and Jim took the transport to the bar on the opposite side of the Starfleet campus.  Spock seemed oblivious to Jim’s internal struggle to confront Spock about what little he overheard.  As far as he knew, Spock had never lied to him, but was in a habit of withholding information when he saw fit (the identity of Carol Wallace/Marcus, for one).

All that was pushed aside when they entered the bar and saw his crew waiting eagerly for his arrival.  Jim took a seat next to Bones, Spock on his other side.  Sulu, Chekov, Scotty, Keenser, and Uhura took up the other seats, wide smiles (except for Keenser, who rapidly blinked a few times, which Jim took to mean a happy greeting).  Jim took a moment to notice that Uhura and Spock were not making eye contact, despite being directly across from each other.

The group immediately fell into friendly chatter.  Bones had ordered a round of drinks for the group, although Keenser kept his lager in a shot glass, and Spock only sipped his orange concoction, before switching to an herbal tea later in the evening.  Scotty regaled them with the tale of an away mission gone wrong upon the USS Capulet that had them in stitches.  Bones and Sulu debated the merits of East Coast versus West Coast bar food, finally settling on a giant platter of deep fried pickles and onion rings that not even Spock could resist.  Keenser and Uhura were communicating with a series of clicks and facial expressions, and must have said something inappropriate because Uhura actually blushed and Scotty gave a bawdy laugh and launched into another story about the time he was stuck in an Jeffries tube nothing but a broken comm, pocket lint, and Spock for company.  His Commander added a few dry remarks about the eventure, making Bones laugh, and Jim felt his face hurt from smiling too much.

It was perfect, and he never wanted it to end.

Jim stood up and the group feel silent.  He raised his glass and met everyone’s eyes.  “To my loyal and fearless crew, for which I would not be standing here today.  I can’t think of anyone better to spend the next five years with,” he said, feeling a little overwhelmed by the admiration he saw in the faces around him.  He smirked, continuing, “Because I’m confident  that if you haven’t jumped ship by now, it’s likely you never will.”  Everyone grinned at that, even Spock nodded thoughtfully and raised his glass.  “To the Enterprise.”

“To the Enterprise,” they chorused enthusiastically.

\----

A few of their group left to bring back more drinks, leaving Sulu, Spock, Bones, and Kirk at the table.

“I’ve missed our games, Sulu,” Jim complained.

“I don’t know why,” Sulu replied smugly.  “Maybe we should try something you could actually win.”

“What can I say, I’m a glutton for punishment,” Jim said, chuckling.  “How about this weekend?”

“Sorry, no can do,” Sulu said, his ears turning a little red.  “Pavel invited me to spend Easter with his him.  To meet his family.”

Jim looked over where the young Navigator was standing at the bar, smiling sweetly, eyes only for Sulu.

“You and Chekov?” Jim asked, surprised.  He still had a hard time remembering that the kid was legal in most star systems, as of two months ago.

“About time,” Bones muttered into his beer.

Jim whipped his head back to Bones.  “You knew?” Jim asked.  Bones rolled his eyes.  “Did you know?” he asked Spock.  He nodded.

“Misters Sulu and Chekov submitted the appropriate paperwork 33 days ago,” Spock said.   _While you were dead_ , didn’t have to be said out loud.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize,” Jim said to Sulu, still surprised.  “That’s great.  Wow.  Meeting the parents, that’s big.”  Sulu nodded, a little pained, and excused himself to help Chekov bring the drinks to the table.  Poor schmuck, Jim thought.

“I have always been perplexed by that Human holiday,” Spock said suddenly.  “Why would one want to find artificially colored avian eggshells?”

Bones chucked, and Jim shook his head.  “No idea.  It’s the candy you really want, especially the chocolate bunnies.”

“And before you ask, no, we don’t know why they are shaped like small Terran mammals,” Bones interjected.  “It’s a completely illogical Human holiday.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jim said, grinning.  “I'm seeing that whole ‘savior rising from the dead three days later’ thing in a new light now.”

His First Officer and CMO shared a dark look but did not comment.  “What?” Jim asked. “Too soon?  Lighten up, both of you, that’s an order.  So Sulu’s bailed on me already, what about you, Bones?  Wanna watch me stuff my face with Easter candy until I get sick?”

“As much fun as that sounds, I’m spending the weekend with Joanna, if her mother doesn’t sabotage the visit,” McCoy said.  Jim grimaced internally, thinking of all the time that Bones had lost with his daughter while patching Jim up.

“That’s great,” Jim brightly.  “Tell the munchkin I said hello.  Well Spock,” he said, turning to his First Officer.  “It’s just you and me this weekend.  You haven’t gotten sick of me yet, have you?”

“Your presence has been anything but negative for my wellbeing, Captain,” Spock said hesitantly.  “However, I have been asked to visit the Saharan State University on a personal matter.”

“Oh, okay,” Jim said.  He felt something freeze in his chest.  He would be alone, truly alone, for the first time in ages.  “Good thing I have all this mission paperwork to catch up on,” he tightly.  How had it so suddenly changed that he couldn’t spend a couple days without Spock or someone around for company?

“Keptin,” a young voice chirped, “Hikaru is coming for Easter, perhaps you would come with us, da?”

Jim turned around to see Chekov and Sulu.  “No, Chekov I couldn’t impose--”

“We would be honored to have you, sir,” he said, nodding eagerly.  Sulu also nodded, trying to communicate something desperate in his pleading eyes.

“Well...” Jim said, glancing at Spock, who was looking back impassively.  Maybe, alone with his Navigator and Helmsman, he could discover what the hell was being kept from him.

“Why not?”

Forty-eight hours later, Jim would regret the decision, but not for the reasons Spock would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope I didn't paint Uhura is a very negative light, I think she's awesome. She's just able to be awesomer if she isn't with Spock, because he isn't what she really needs. And we all know who Spock needs.
> 
> Thank you for reading, your feedback, and your patience :-)


	5. Borscht

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to the great people of Russia, all errors are my own.  
> Dobro pozhalovat' domoy!- Welcome home (so sayeth google)

Because of the time difference, Jim wasn’t expected at the San Francisco Interstellar Transportation Terminal until Saturday afternoon.  The good mood from yesterday seemed to disappear under the weight of whatever happened between Spock and Uhura, colored by Jim’s suspicion that the crew was hiding something.  Jim kept out of Spock’s way, and Spock did similarly.

They had a quiet lunch, silent chewing interrupted only once.

“Have you heard from Uhura?”

“Lietenant Uhura is spending the weekend with her sister.”

“Oh.  You want to talk about it?”

“No, Captain.”

“Carol Marcus submitted her application for the mission.”

Spock nodded, as if unsurprised by the news.

“I think she might make a great addition to the crew.  She has a unique background in that could be valuable to both the science and engineering departments.  Even Bones liked working with her, and that’s saying something.”

“Her skill set could be seen as advantageous.”  Spock’s enthusiasm was tepid, even by Vulcan standards.  Jim decided to shelve that issue for now, he had bigger Vulcan Secrets to tackle.

\---

That afternoon, Spock escorted Jim to the transportation terminal. Considering Spock had said exactly 19 words to him today (and yes, Jim had counted), he didn’t hold out much hope to get Spock to spill the beans on That Which We Will Not Tell The Captain.  That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try one more time.

“I feel like I’ve been looking through the metric ton of officer applications,” Jim started casually as they sat on the transport.  “It’s not going to be easy, figuring out which people will be suited to be out there for five years.”

Spock nodded.  “If you would like, I can compile a shortlist of candidates based on their latest psychological evaluations.”

“That would be great, thanks,” Jim said, watching building pass by outside the window.  “However, I think that what I’m really after isn't going to show up in their psych evals, you know?”

“No, Captain, please elaborate.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on everything, and I’ve come to the conclusion that a captain can only be as good as the people around him.”  Jim stopped, turned to his First Officer.  “Spock, you are one of the most honest people I know.”

Spock tilted his head quizzically.  “I could not determine the veracity of that statement.  As Vulcans do not lie, and I am the only Vulcan of your acquaintance, that may be true.”

“I mean, any First Officer could be diplomatic and polite with me while I was fumbling through all this,” Jim said, gesturing around him, as their transport encompassed the Jim’s Starfleet career.  “But you didn’t.  There were a lot of things some people could have lied about, withheld from me, your opinions about our mission to Qo'noS, for one, but you didn’t.  I think that saved us all, in the end.  A good captain needs that in his crewmembers.”

Spock merely nodded stiffly.  “To do otherwise would be most illogical.”  Jim mentally sighed, knowing this was going no where.  It was worth a shot.  

They had arrived at the terminal, and Spock and Jim exited the transport and entered the terminal building.  They followed the signs to the shuttle bay, finding Sulu and Chekov huddled together, holding hands and talking quietly.  Jim rolled his eyes and wondered yet again how he had not noticed those two flirting under his nose at their stations.

He looked over at his First Officer and pointed at the love birds.  “Well, this is me.  I’ll see you in a couple days.”

“Save travels, Captain,” he replied, leaving Jim feeling a unaccountably bereft.

“Spock,” he said, stopping the other from turning around.  “Is there anything you aren’t telling me?”

Spock stared at Jim intently, and Jim could almost see the conflict warring within his Vulcan brain.  Spock finally nodded and Jim gave a mental fist pump.  Finally!  Jim had broken through the Vulcan’s defenses and hit paydirt.

“Dr. Marcus already communicated with me yesterday, requesting that I personally consider her application as an officer in my department.  I am aware that you approve of her actions aboard the Enterprise, but I respectfully submit that she is wholly unqualified and unprepared for a deep space mission, and is emotionally unsuited to serve aboard the Enterprise.”

Jim internally rolled his eyes.  Spock’s opinion of Dr. Marcus was about as obvious as the pointy ears on Spock’s head.  He would deny it until the Klingons surrendered, but Spock had been shooting Vulcan Death Beams from his eyes the minute she took that seat between he and Jim on the shuttle.

“Well, thank you for sharing that, Mr. Spock,” Jim said, annoyed but willing to be patient.  He would discover the truth, one way or another.  “You always tell it like it is.”

“Again, I remind you, captain: Vulcans cannot lie, nor would we withhold information if it was illogical to do so.”

“Of course," he said, trying to keep his annoyance out of his voice.  "Well, enjoy your time without me, Spock.  You won’t be betting much of that in the next five years.”

Spock quirked an eyebrow at that.  “Very well, Captain.”

\----

Chekov immediately straightened, beaming when Jim approached them.  “Keptin, we are happy you could join us,” he said earnestly.

“Thanks for inviting me, Pavel,” he said.  “And it’s just Jim, today, okay?”

“Yes, sir- Jim.”  The young man beamed.  Their launch was announced, direct to Yakutsk, Russia, and they climbed aboard, securing a compartment for themselves.  Chekov left to stow his bag of Xyrillian spices and herbs “for Mama,” he explained with a shy grin, leaving Sulu and Jim alone.

“So, Hikaru,” Jim said with a sympathetic smile.  “You nervous?”

Sulu groaned, rubbing his hands over his face.  “You have no idea.  This is going to be holiday hell.  Did you know he has _thirteen sisters_?”

Jim shook his head.  Perhaps it explained why Chekov was so keen to enroll in Starfleet so young.  It certainly explained why he always managed to stay on Uhura’s good side and Yeoman Rand never got annoyed when he turned it late paperwork: Chekov knew the secret.  Surely growing up with that many women under one roof, it qualified as advanced tactical training in Human female moods.

“He’s the only son, the baby of the family,” Sulu continued, his voice raising an octave.  “You know when Pavel told his parents we were dating, I got seventeen emails harassing me about my behavior with their beloved little brother?”

“So you brought me along as what?  A witness in case things got hostile?”  Sulu offered a tight smile.  “You know, this is yet another reason I’m staying a confirmed bachelor,” Jim said.  “Families are scary.”

“You said it,” Sulu said.  “I haven’t met his mother, but she’s all he ever talks about.  Pavel said the last boyfriend he had, she--” and then Sulu clammed up, because the compartment door hissed open, revealing a chipper Navigator.

“We are ready to go!” he said, plopping down next to Sulu.  “It will be wery early in the morning at home, Mama said all my sisters came yesterday, so you will get to spend the day with eweryone!”

Sulu smiled, and tucked his hand in Chekov’s.  “I can’t wait.”

\----

Two hours later, they arrived in below freezing weather to Yakutsk.  The sun wasn’t even up yet.  As soon as he landed, Jim’s comm pinged with a message.

_Have you arrived safely?_

Jim snorted.  Spock probably had it calculated down to the nano-second when the shuttle would arrive.

_Yes.  Miss me already?_

They took a transport down an icy road, past the city limits to a large ominous building surrounded by barbed wire fences.  Sulu and Jim shared an uneasy look.

“It is a conwerted military bunker!” Chekov said enthusiastically.  “The architecture is all original, dating all the way back to the Cold War of the twentieth century, a great era of Russian inwention.”

“Wow, that’s like....” and Jim trailed off, not sure what to make of Chekov’s childhood home.

“Like living in a museum,” Sulu supplied.

Chekov nodded, pointing to a hill a few meters from the building.  “Da, but a museum to play in.  Ower there, all the original ballistic missiles and torpedos are stored, great to play hide and seek under,” he said fondly.

Sulu’s jaw dropped.  “You have primitive missiles in your house?”

“Da,” Chekov said again, not catching his companion’s worried looks.  “Mama is a physicist, yes?  She likes collecting these things, Papa makes her keep them in the silo.  Either that, or in the kitchen.”

“Of course,” Jim said, trying to keep his voice light.  “Can’t have the ancient explosives in the kitchen.”

They exited the transport, dawn barely breaking, and made their way past the barbed wire fences to the door.  As Chekov approached the keypad to put in the sequence.  “They are probably still asleep.”

Which was categorically false, and the door swung open to reveal about fifty Russians waiting in the a hallway.

“ _Dobro pozhalovat' domoy_!” they all cheered, and descended upon the trio.

Jim was surprised to find himself being bodily dragged inside and hugged by no less than half of Chekov’s family.  At least, he assumed they were Chekov’s family, he wasn’t really asking questions as he was being passed from person to person.  Various diplomatic meetings with different races left Jim a little more emotionally prepared for unusual displays of affection, so he went with it.

“Pasha?” a booming woman’s voice called over the din of excited Russians.  “My Pasha?”  The crowd parted for a woman in the doorway in the back of the hallway.  She was tall, taller than Jim, with silver hair wrapped in two braids around her head.  She wore an apron over her paisley print dress.  She marched across the room and wrapped a smiling Chekov into an enthusiastic hug, lifting him off his feet.  “My son is home,” she warbled, her face buried into his hair.  “He has returned to us.”

Jim smiled at the scene, feeling himself warm from the inside, much to happy to feel envious.  She set Chekov back on the ground, turning to find Jim first.  “And this must be the handsome young man you’ve told us about!” she exclaimed, wrapping Jim up in hug.  He winced, the woman was incredibly strong.

“Uh, sorry,” Jim said, awkwardly returning the affectionate embrace.  “I’m the other handsome young man.  The one you want is over there.”

The woman pulled back, frowning.  “Who are you?”

“Mama,” Chekov said, blushing scarlet, glancing at the shocked expressions of dozens of relatives.  He was tugging Sulu’s arm.  “This is Hikaru.”

She recovered quickly and pulled Sulu out of Chekov’s grasp into another hug.  “Hikaru!” she exclaimed, setting him down on the floor and kissing both his cheeks.  “We are so happy to meet you!”

“And this is Keptin Kirk,” Chekov said weakly, looking like he wanted to melt into the floor.  Sulu didn’t look much better, his hair ruffled and his shirt party untucked.  Jim took pity on them and approached Chekov’s mother again.

“Jim Kirk, Mrs. Chekov,” he said, taking her hand in his and kissing it, flashing her a winning smile.  He heard some sighs of appreciation from the back of the room.  “I’m honored to meet the mother of my finest navigator.”

She flushed a little, and patted his cheek.  “I did not recognize you from your pictures.  So much better in person,” she said fondly, and then turned to the crowd.  “Eweryone to the kitchen!” she bellowed, making Sulu and Jim jump.

“Come, Pasha, Hikaru, Jim, you must be hungry,” she said in a softer voice as the hoard of Russians filtered out of the room.  Chekov tried to coax Sulu’s hair back into order to little avail.

“Mrs. Chekov,” Jim said, offering his arm gallantly.  She smiled again, taking it.

“You must call me Mama,” she said, leading the group out of the room.  “I hope you like borscht.”

“Borscht?” Jim repeated, not having the faintest idea what it was.  “Never had one I didn’t like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you get the urge, search for Russian declassified bunkers. They are pretty awesome.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank again, gentle readers, for your comments, feedback, and kudos. Next chapter, I think will be entitled: Vodka. :-) hooray!


	6. Blini

Apparently, converted military bunker kitchens were made to accommodate a clan as large as the Chekhovs, and Mama Chekov cooked like she was feeding a Klingon army headed into battle.  The large room looked like a kitchen for a school cafeteria, an impossibly large oven dominating one side of the room.  Jim estimated at least seventy men, women, and children were seated at two long tables, piled high with food, twenty or thirty more were in groups chopping vegetables, rolling dough, and filling pies.  A beefy man, who introduced himself as “Boris, Natalia’s husband,” sat Jim down at the end of the table between “Ivana, Inga’s twin” and “Nikoli, Marta’s son.”  Sulu and Chekov were whisked over to another table where a squat, older man with a bushy mustache sat, presumably Chekov’s father.  Jim’s attention was distracted as someone passed him a plate laden with tiny pancakes.

“It’s blini,” Ivana, twin of Inga, informed him, batting her long eyelashes at him.  “Let me show you.”  She piled fruits and sour cream on one and held it between her fingers from him to eat from, holding it out in a flirtatious invitation.

“I-- uh--” Jim stalled, warning bells going off in his head.  Kirk Rule 24: unlike weddings, national observances, funerals, and birthdays, family holidays with other people’s families were probably the worst place to find a hookup, next to starships.

Mama Chekov was walking around the table with another plate of the tiny pancakes to supply the communal platter that had been dwindling.  Ivana, twin of Inga, took advantage of his momentary distraction and shoved the blini in his mouth, making Jim choke a little.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“Best blini I’ve ever had,” he said around the mouthful when he recovered.  Mama Chekov smiled at them and sat the entire platter in front of Jim.  “You are too skinny,” she complained, and then walked back to her station at the stove, barking orders at a group of teenagers who got back to frantically peeling potatoes.

Jim stared at the heaping plate of pancakes, wondering how best to conquer the breakfast mountain, lest he upset his hostess, and how best to get out of the room, without offending Ivana, twin of Inga.  He was saved when a tiny hand tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned around to find a little girl hiding behind her older brother.  “Are you a starship captain?” the boy asked.  He looked to be about eight, the age when Jim started to idolize everything Starfleet.

Jim smiled, slipping into his disarming “why, aren’t you cute” act he played for little kids and the attractive adult offspring of dignitaries.  “Yes, I am.  I have a badge and everything.  Would you like to see it?”

The little girl, who looked about five, elbowed her her brother and hissed, “I told you,” and looked back at Jim.  “No, thank you.  Can we see the schematics for your warp core?”

Jim blinked.  “The warp core?”

“Yes,” the boy replied, and didn’t elaborate further.  Jim saw a passel of children waiting in the back of the room, eyes trained on the exchange.

“Sorry, kid, I don’t carry stuff like that around with me, and I’m not really sure I’m supposed to share that with little kids anyway,” Jim said.  The pair hung their heads, nodding.  As the two turned and the group saw their sad faces, the munchkin hoard seemed to wilt, as if they were told the Easter Bunny forgot to hide the eggs this year.  Their sappy, sad kid eyes were all trained on Jim, pleading.

He had the distinct feeling he had become the Grinch of Easter.

“Uhhh... wait!” Jim said, panicking.  “I don’t have those schematics, but I think I have something cooler,” he said said, reaching into his half-empty duffle for his PADD.  The pair turned around, eagerly watching as Jim tapped the screen and showed them what he pulled up.  “A proposal for a top of the line astrometrics lab, designed by one of the best engineers in Starfleet.  Never before seen on a starship.”

Judging by the looks on the kid’s faces, Jim just delivered a giant chocolate bunny, wrapped in rainbows, delivered by a unicorn.

“You want to see it?” Jim said tauntingly, waving the PADD infront of their eyes.  They tracked it like hungry predators.  The boy nodded absently.  “Great, you take this,” he said, picking up the patter of tiny pancakes and handed it to the girl.  The pile of blinis reached above her eyes.  “And let’s get out of here.”

The pair of ringleaders nodded, Jim gave a little wave to Ivana, twin of Inga, and headed out the door of the kitchen, thirty anklebiters and a breakfast mountain following in his wake.

\----

Five hours later, Jim was still standing in a converted USSR bunker communications and intelligence room, which served as a the Chekovs’ office.  Twenty children were sitting on the floor, engrossed in the holographic projection of Scotty’s astrometric lab proposal as if it was a children’s entertainment vid.  Ten more were standing at computer screens, running a simulations of their proposed relay system which might streamline some of the components of the proposed lab.

Starfleet think tanks should really try to harness this army of tiny Chekovs, Jim thought idly, watching three nine year olds debate the applied physics related to a hybrid plasma injector.  His engineering nerds really had nothing on these tots--

“... because the ionizing radiation would blow out the plasma distribution manifold, dummy,” one of the kids snipped.

“Who are who you are calling a dummy, fart breath,” the other retorted.

\--Except, perhaps, in vocabulary.

Sulu walked in the door just as Jim was trying to referee a fight between two kids over the last blini (or maybe the fight was over quantum theory?  He wasn’t sure).  Sulu stared at the scene for a moment, and then promptly turned around.

“Freeze, Hikaru,” Jim said, and then picked up one of the angry genius-level tykes before it started a brawl over theoretical physics.

Sulu stopped and then turned around.  “I don’t think I want to be a part of this,” he said, then did a double take at the holographic projections.  “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yup,” Jim said, dropping the kid in a chair.  “Now don’t get up from there until I say,” he said sternly and turned back to Sulu.  “Now _this_ ,” Jim announced grandly, gesturing to the diligently working grammar school children, “is how you get a new and improved astrometrics lab.  Scotty is going to shit a brick when he sees what these rugrats came up with.”

The children working at the consoles beamed at the attention and hopefully weren’t going to repeat anything that Jim said today.  “See here,” Jim said, pointing to part of the diagram.  “They proposed a new type of dynamic relay, so I don’t have to knock down any walls in sickbay.”

“It will also increase efficiency by 1.7 percent,” one chimed in.  Jim ruffled her hair.

“Aren’t they awesome?” Jim cooed, smiling broadly.  Sulu looked sceptical.

“Here, take this,” Sulu said, handing Jim his duffle bag.  “It’s been beeping.”

Jim grabbed the bag from Sulu, taking out a beeping comm.  Five unread messages.  One from Bones, reminding him to send another biometric reading.  Four from Spock.

_I find myself adequately occupied._

_Dr. Marcus has contacted me again.  I referred her to you._

_Please alert me when are you arrive in San Francisco tomorrow._

_Ms. Ilko wishes to know if you would like more lasagna when you return._

Jim snorted, and messaged Spock back an affirmative on the lasagna. _It’s okay if you miss me_ he added at the end, before he hit send.

“Also,” Sulu said, eying the comm curiously, “lunch is ready.”

Apparently the “lunch” was the only thing that needed to be said in a room full of always starving kids.  They immediately abandoned their posts and rushed down the hallway into the kitchen, leaving Sulu and Jim alone.

“Sorry to abandon you out there,” Jim offered.  “The locals were getting... fiesty.”

“Inga?”

“No, her twin, Ivana.”  Sulu winced sympathetically.  “But hey, you’re still alive, how’d it go?”

Sulu rolled his eyes.  “I’ve been treated to Pavel’s father’s treatise on Great Mother Russia and how warp speed was invented just outside Moscow 100 years before First Contact.  Mama forced me to eat my weight in those tiny pancakes,” he complained, rubbing his stomach.  “I’m not going to fit in the shuttle tomorrow, you’ll have to get me back with a tractor beam.”

“Hikaru, if you ever want to sit in the big seat of your own ship, you have to learn one thing,” Jim lectured, picking up his empty platter of blini the little munchkins devoured for him.  “Delegate.”

\---

Lunch was a much more formal affair, and somehow even more people were seated in the giant room.  There was a table dedicated to the kids, and many of his new-found tyke army waved enthusiasically at him as he walked by to take his seat between Chekov and his mother..  Mama Chekov had abdicated her role as kitchen taskmaster, allowing a small army of children and grandchildren to oversee the distribution of food, a feast of meats, cheeses, pastries, and pink soup.

“My famous borscht,” Mama Cekov said, as the pink soup was ladled into Jim’s bowl.

“Looks delicious,” Jim enthused, trying to hide is worry, as Bones had drilled the mantra If It’s Pink, Rethink, into his head.  Spock had once pointed out that Jim’s allergies had little to do with how the eye perceived the wavelength composition of light, but Bones was convinced that a statistically significantly amount of those things that made Jim’s face swell up, heart stop, or synapses misfire were, most likely, pink.  So no strawberries, Rigellian boar, moonfruit spores, and probably no borscht, if Bones had anything to do with it.

But Bones wasn’t here, Jim thought recklessly, and decided to take a spoonful anyway.

It tasted strongly of earth and garlic and beef, and Jim was fairly certain he didn’t taste anything that might cause his throat to swell up.  He waited a few more moments, nodding thoughtfully and then smiled.

“It’s wonderful,” he said, more relieved than anything that he probably wasn’t going to die, as these things tended to happen immediately for him.  If the soup was going to get him now, it was probably going to have to drown him.  He thought for a moment how annoyed Spock would be if Jim died, drowning in a bowl of soup in the middle of frozen Russia under an old Soviet bunker full of antique missiles, after all his hard work to keep him alive thus far.  That being said, Jim didn't take seconds.

The meal was very pleasant.  Sulu, who was seated between Chekov and Mr. Chekov Sr., kept nodding politely at his stories, Chekov and Mama went back and forth on some project his mother was working on, and Jim didn’t have to eat another pink food for the rest of the meal.  After the delicious lunch, one of the Chekov wunderkinds approached him, asking if he would return to review the latest simulations.

He caught Sulu’s desperate look, and had to decline.  “But don’t worry, kid,” he assured him.  “I’m going to forward all these ideas to my First Officer.  Spock is going to go nuts for these changes.  Well, he'll get as excited as a Vulcan can get.”

The boy’s ears perked up.  “Vulcan?” he asked.  “Your first officer is Vulcan?”

Jim nodded.  “Half-Vulcan.”  The boy’s eyes became as round as saucers.

“Do Vulcans have green blood?” the boy blurted.

“Uh-- yes,” Jim answered, puzzled.  The boy grinned, satisfied.

“But why?” said a small voice behind the boy, a little girl this time.

“It’s uh-- well-” Jim stammered, trying remember why.  More children walked over, eager faces awaiting Jim’s answer.

“Copper-based blood,” Chekov supplied.

The children nodded.  “Would internal body temperature be lower than that ours, to promote efficient chemical reactions?” one of the children questioned.  A few nodded thoughfully, looking at Chekov and Jim for the answer.  Chekov shrugged, so Jim pulled out his comm.

“Not sure, but I know someone who does,” Jim said.

_What is your internal body temperature?_

Spock’s reply was almost immediate.

_32.78*C_

He relayed the information to the children, hoping that would appease them, but it just created more questions.

“Is that because Vulcan was a desert planet?”

“Do Vulcans possess sweat glands?”

“Can they hear better than humans?”

“Do they have an appendix?’

Jim pointed a finger at the six-year-old who came up with that question.  “An appendix?  Really?  How is that remotely interesting?” he asked.  He was wishing one of them would ask why Spock’s ears were pointed.  Jim had pondered that mystery a couple times, why not these kids?

“I've heard that Vulcan physiology is symmetrical,” the boy said solemnly.  “It would suggest a lack of an appendix.”

“Oh,” Jim said, and then typed the questions into his comm.  The answers were, in order: Yes, No, Yes, and No, because Vulcan physiology is perfectly symmetrical.

_May I inquire to your sudden interest in Vulcan biology?_

Jim snorted, deciding the truth wasn’t helpful in this case.   _I’m playing Vulcan Trivial Pursuit.  Culture questions are up next.  Any hints?_

There.  See what Spock made of that.

“Out!” Mama Chekov said, finally, shooing them away from the table.  “No more questions, leave him in peace."

Jim watched them all trudge back to their table, and comm pinged one more time.  Jim read it and couldn't stiffle a bark of laughter.

_The answer is probably Surak._

And Bones thought Spock didn’t have a sense of humor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my apologies to the great people of Russia and the survivors of Vulcan. All facts of Vulcan physiology are canon, per Memory Alpha, I do believe. All errors are my own. Okay, Vodka is the next chapter. I had too much fun writing about the munchkin army.
> 
> So, who figured it out: is Spock probably naturally cooler or warmer than Jim?
> 
> Thank you for reading, I appreciate the giggles, thoughts, Vulcan Trivial Pursuit questions, and feedback :-)
> 
> The other answer to all Vulcan trivia questions: plomeek soup.


	7. Vodka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Spock, we need to have kids."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Na stárt, Vnimánije, Marš: read, set, go! or some approximation there of, so sayeth Google. Again, my apologies to the great people of Russia, and their rich and varied culture.

The lunch was winding down, and suddenly Mr. Chekov Sr. stood from his chair and the room fell silent.  He turned to the table of children.

“Na stárt,” he announced, and the children scrambled from their seats, dashing to the doorway, but not crossing the threshold, eagerly jostling each other.    “Vnimánije.”  The jostling increased, but not a toe crossed the doorway threshold.

“Marš!” And the army poured out of the room with screams of excitement.

Mr. Chekov Sr. turned back to the adults, clapped his hands and rubbed them together.  “Time for the glasses, da?”  The adults cheered at this and suddenly there was a flurry of action as almost everyone stood up started to fetch things or separate the long tables into smaller tables.

“What just happened?” Sulu asked

“The Easter egg hunt,” Chekov explained, standing to help push chairs out of the way.  “Except the hunt is wery tricky, with codes to break and clues and traps.  Papa always has the best hiding places.  The hunt goes on for hours, sometimes past midnight.”

“So what are we doing now?” Sulu asked, watching the flury of activity.  People were scrambling for glasses, and dozens of bottles of vodka were being carried to tables.

“I do not know,” Chekov said sheepishly.  “First time with the adults.”

Jim smirked and Sulu winced at the reminder of his boyfriend’s recent jailbait status.

“Pasha,” a deep baritone voice called.  The beefy man that introduced himself as Boris, Natalia’s husband, gestured for him to sit at one of the tables.  “Bring your friends.”

Chekov, Sulu, and Jim took the seats near Boris.  Boris leaned over and thumped Chekov roughly on the back.  “Pasha, my boy, today we put some hair on zat chest,” he roared, and set down shot glasses in front of him and poured a shot out.  Pavel took his shot, tipped it to Boris, and drank it down.  “Another!” Boris said, and poured one for everyone at the table.  Jim took his glass.

“It’s, what, two in the afternoon here?” Jim asked to no one in particular.

“It is tradition,” the stocky Russian said and refilled his own glass.  Jim shrugged and downed his shot to cheers from around the table.  “To Pasha’s young man!” Boris said, saluting to Sulu and downed his.  “Another!”  Pasha held out his own glass with a grin.

“Pavel has the genes for this, but I’m going to be under the table before dinner if we continue,” Sulu muttered.  Jim agreed: he doubted his liver had restored itself quite enough for playing in the big leagues here.  “What are we going to do?”

Apparently, the question was what didn’t the Chekovs do during Easter?  There were a few card games running, Jim sat in once and got cleaned out by a middle-aged second cousin that looked like his second grade teacher.  He watched as Sulu was cornered, alone, by three stern looking sisters, and Jim was able to rescue him by dragging him to watch a table playing a Romulan dice game.  He kept running into Ivana (or was this one Inga?) who gave him come-fuck-me eyes.  She (they?) was very attractive, by any standard, but Jim could not find it within himself to be interested, Kirk Rule 24 or no.  Which was weird, but Jim didn’t want to reflect on that right now.  Everyone handed them glasses of clear alcohol, but Sulu or Jim would take turns depositing them on unwatched tables or handing them to another thirsty-looking relative.

The room broke out into drinking songs on occasion, and Jim tried to sing loudly to the choruses of the Russian ditties.  A few of the kids wandered in briefly, trying to sneak sips of the unattended vodka glasses.  Grandpa Chekov and some of the cousins were playing music in the corner, and one of the aunts convinced Jim to dance, and Jim never danced.  But what did he care?  He was alive, in Russia of all places.  Life was too short not to dance with little old aunts.

A wave of dizziness suddenly hit him. Just as he was about to return to his seat, Inga (or maybe it was Ivana?) tried to drag him back to the dance floor.

“Where did Pavel and Hikaru go?” Jim asked, looking around, the room started to slide around in his vision.

“Oh, I would not worry,” Ivana said, wrapping an arm around Jim’s shoulders, but Jim shrugged out of her grasp.  Attractive woman flirted and he did not flirt back.  Surely that was a Kirk-specific biological reflex that Bones forgot to test.  He should ask about that.

Jim made a beeline to the table where Boris and Mama Chekov were sitting with a few other relatives.  One of the young teens was with them, taking a sip from a glass when he thought no one was looking.  Jim gave him a stern look and the kid just grinned, tipped his glass in Jim’s direction, threw it back and slammed the glass back on the table with a cheeky smile.  Jim watched him scamper off, bewildered.  Perhaps these tiny geniuses were more trouble than Jim originally thought.

“Have you see Pavel and Hikaru?” he asked Mama Chekov.  She grinned and shook her head.

“They left... somewhere,” she said, hiccuping.

“You know what zey say about Easter drinking,” Boris said with a sly grin.  “Nine months later, bring Christmas babies.”  Mama Chekov nodded, giggling, then hiccuped.

Jim’s jaw dropped, and he desperately hoped that no one (especially Mama Chekov!) was expecting his helmsman and navigator to be making little ‘Fleet brats right now.

Ivana (Inga?) found him, leaning into Jim and whispered something in sultry Russian in his ear that needed no translating.  Jim suddenly realized that there was no way he wished to take her up on whatever offer was being whispered breathily into his ear.  Which was a first, really.  He wasn’t sober, he had an obviously willing participant that had been sending him signals since breakfast.  Really, this was weird.

“Oops!” Jim yelled, removing her hand from his shoulder and backing away.  Inga (Ivana?) stared at him as if he’d just grown another head.  “I just remembered.  I promised someone something, and now I have to take care of that thing.”  And he ran out of the room into the only other room he was familiar with.

Relieved to see the intelligence room-turned-office was empty, he closed the door and sank into a chair in front of a computer console.  His head was spinning with ideas, and all of them sounded like excellent ideas.  He debated with himself for a moment, and then opened a channel.

“Captain?”

“It’s me,” Jim said.  “I had to get away.”

“Are you done searching for avian eggshells?” Spock inquired.

“No, the my munchkin army is still looking,” he replied, and then remembered one of his excellent ideas.

“Spock,” Jim whispered excitedly.  “Spock, listen.”

“Captain, I assure you, you have my attention.”

“I had a great idea,” he announced.  “We need to have kids.”

Jim wondered if he could measure the distance Spock’s eyebrows traveled and correlate it with the Vulcan’s emotions.  He was not sure he knew that both of his eyebrows went up that high.  Maybe it is part of his perfect Vulcan symmetry?

“How does my symmetry relate to your desire to procreate with me?”

“What?” Jim asked, then realized he had spoken some of those previous thoughts aloud.  “No, no, my idea is not about your eyebrows.  We- the Enterprise- needs to have kids.  Already made kids from other people, we should invite them on the ship and take them into space.  I found tiny little geniuses here that would join us.  In five years, they'd be old enough to enroll at the Academy.  You are going to love them.”

“Captain--”

“And they wouldn’t take up much room!  We could make little bunkbeds in the cargo bay, but we need to make sure we--”

“Captain--”

“--lock up all the alcohol.  They are really tricky and smart, like tiny versions of you, but not with your sense of humor,” Jim finished.

“Captain, perhaps this plan could wait until morning when you are sufficiently sober--”

“Spaaaaahhhhk,” Jim whined.  “I only had two shots, and that was like... two, no three hours ago.  Ivana, Inga’s twin was hitting on me.  But it might have been Inga.  Not sure yet.  I am not all... all... alcoholically compromised.”  He stopped and leaned in closer to the screen.  “Spock, they had boobs, and they were all in my face, and I didn’t even notice.  She wanted Christmas babies.”  Spock did not seem to respond with the understanding that he should have.  “I mean, really really nice boobs, and I just didn’t even look at them.  I think I might be broken,” he said sadly.

Spock did his version of a sigh, which was to exhale a little and let his shoulder slump.  “Captain, you are not broken.  You are healing from a traumatic event, and it will take time to--”

“I know what you and Uhura were arguing about,” Jim said suddenly.  Spock’s eyes widened and Jim decided to recklessly chase that hunch down.  “It’s something bad about me, isn’t it?  Is it about sex?”  Spock did not reply, but flushed slightly green.  “Oh god, it is.  I am broken, and I’ll never feel like having sex again.  I knew the superblood would have side effects.  I get it though--”

“Captain--”

“Bones could only choose to save so many parts of me, and he thought I’d rather have my eyes--”

“Captain, please--”

“--than use my dick.  That doesn’t really sound like him though,” Jim said slowly, his mind racing and seeing all the pieces of the last few weeks click together.  It all made perfect sense: Spock.

“I must insist that--”

“You had to choose my vision over my sex drive.  It was the logical choice, wasn’t it?”

“Jim,” Spock said loudly, silencing Jim’s rant.  He continued in a softer voice, almost soothing.   “Dr. McCoy has indicated that all biological functions should return eventually.  You are not... _broken_.”

Jim let out a breath and nodded.  Suddenly his head starting spinning.  “I feel like it,” Jim groaned.  “Those drinks at the bar last night didn’t feel like this.”

Spock’s eyebrows knitted together.  “Have you taken a biometric reading recently?”

Jim looked around the room and found his abandoned dufflebag that Sulu had brought him earlier.

“I’m sorry for getting carried away there,” Jim said, sticking his arm in the bag, searching for the medical tricorder.  “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Perhaps the scan will tell us,” Spock said dryly.

“I shouldn’t have been so worried,” Jim continued, blissfully unaware how impaired his frontal lobe must be.  “I _have_ been noticing people since I’ve woken up.  In _that_ way.  You know.”

Spock stared blankly, which made Jim think it was a game his First Officer played with him.  Jim dubbed it the Vulcan Stare-Down, chuckling at his cleverness.  Spock's behavior should have been a warning of something, but Jim’s brain didn’t seem to notice.

“I mean, not many people," Jim continued.  "Not everybody.  Just a few.  Sometimes.”  He paused his searching to think back on who those lucky few actually where.  “Like you.”

Spock’s waning blush had renewed itself and the tips of his ears were turning green as well.

“Just noticing,” Jim reiterated, and looked back at Spock, confused.  “What am I looking for, again?”

“The medical tricorder,” Spock said stiffly.

“That’s right,” he said, nodding.  “Good thing I packed this, you don’t look so good.  You look a little green around the gills.”  Jim found the tricorder and started pointing it at Spock.

“Captain, you are to scan yourself.  I am not actually here.”

Jim huffed a laugh.  Spock was funny.  “Why aren’t you here?” he asked curiously, turning the tricorder around and scanning himself.  “You are always here.”  Spock didn't reply.  Numbers and graphs popped up on the screen and Jim couldn’t make them out.  “Here, you read it,” Jim said, holding it out to comm screen.

Spock studied the tricorder readings, unsteady in Jim’s hand.  If even Jim noticed that, there was a problem.

“Stay where you are," Spock ordered.  "I will request an emergency--”

Suddenly wailing sirens and bright flashing lights filled Jim’s senses.  Jim covered his ears against the noise, disoriented.  Spock’s was mouthing something, but Jim couldn’t understand.  It was too much.  The sirens continued continued, and Jim’s vision started to blur even more, and he had to block it out.

The last thing Jim saw was Spock’s pale face, his hand pressed against the screen.  Jim passed out before he could figure out what Spock was yelling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we all just take a moment and feel really sorry for Spock, who always seems to be a panel of glass/screen/ship away from trying to save Jim? But it always works out. Right?
> 
> I have many fond memories of family gatherings like this, with a relatives who gave us sips of their adults beverages, and no one really keeping count. We all turned out fine. It was my dear grandmother who told me about Easter bringing Christmas babies, and that did scar me for a while.
> 
> Thank you dear readers, I'm always delighted to read your comments and feedback, you keep me going :-) We are almost to the end, I think! Woohoo!


	8. Chocolate Bunnies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dasvidaniya- goodbye

Jim’s sense of smell returned first.  He smelled static, or that slight metallic scent he always associated with the antique television his grandfather had.

Next his hearing, first muffled sounds, which eventually became voices and words.

“... couldn’t have been _logical_ to run into this frozen hellhole,” someone muttered somewhere to his right.

Another voice answered, but it sounded too far away.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you moping around for weeks--”

Muscle control was starting to come back.  He tried to swallow, his mouth felt and tasted like old crusty socks.

“Jim,” the voice said.  “Can you hear me?”

“Bones?” he tried to say, but it came out as a groan.  He was able to open his eyes and eventually he could make out a pair of brown eyes peered down at him.  He was laying on a floor, and he thought he recognized the ceiling.  He tried speaking again, this time a much better approximation of Standard.  "What is going on?"

“How do you feel?” Bones asked.

“Never better,” Jim rasped.  Bones asked Jim to perform a few basic motor and cognitive tasks, and nodded, satisfied.

“As best as I can tell, you had an allergic reaction,” the doctor explained in a clipped voice.  “I’ve been able to treat the symptoms, but I don’t know what caused it.  What do you remember?”  Jim frowned and shook his head.  He couldn’t remember much.  He struggled to sit up from the floor.  Bones put a hand on his chest, forcing him to lay back down.

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” he said bitterly, “we are are trapped, with a bunch of inebriated Russians, in a military installation that predates the Human invention of warp capability.  I’m pretty sure you didn’t have a seizure, but as we are stuck here without any working medical equipment, you aren’t going to scratch your balls until I say you can.”

“How did you get here?” Jim asked, and then part of Bones’ rant processed.  “We’re trapped?”

“Affirmative, Captain,” another voice said to Jim’s left.  Jim whipped his head to see Spock standing a few meters away, a couple blankets wrapped around his shoulders.  “You contacted me 42 minutes ago.  During our conversation, you appeared... unwell.” Bones snorted, but Spock continued without acknowledging Bones' outburst. “Before I could request an emergency beam out, the bunker’s alarms were activated.  All communication was cut.  Attempts to make contact with Ensign Chekov and Lietenant Sulu were unsuccessful.”

Jim vaguely remembered talking to Spock, but couldn’t remember what they had been talking about.

“An ionic anomaly has formed cloud around this area,” Spock explained.  “All electrical equipment is malfunctioning.  We were able to pierce the ionic cloud from the outside by modifying our phasers, but now that we are within the anomaly, we are without means to communicate or escape, at the moment.”

Jim frowned. “Ionic anomaly caused by what?”  As soon as he asked, he knew the answer.

“Some knuckleheaded kid trying to find Easter eggs got it in his head to create a prototype tractor beam out of lollypops and warp core parts and use it on an antique nuclear missile,” Bones growled.  “Collecting Soviet nuclear missiles, I tell you!  Are they out of their Russian minds?”

“Everyone has a hobby,” Jim said.  “Can I get up now?”

Bones grimaced but nodded, assisting Jim to stand, and once he was certain he wasn’t dizzy, took a seat at the computer console.  Bones sat opposite him and Spock continued to stand at Jim’s shoulder, hovering just out of his peripheral vision.  Jim glanced up, meeting his First Officer’s steady gaze.  Spock said nothing.

“Where are Sulu and Chekov?” Bones asked, interrupting their eye-lock.  “Maybe they’ve figured out when this ion cloud will clear up.”

“I will retrieve them,” Spock volunteered, and spun on his heel and walked out the door.  Jim watched his retreating back, wondering what exactly had transpired in the last hour.

“Jim,” Bones started, when Spock left, “when we get out of here, I want you to come to Georgia with me.”

“Oh no.  I am not going to be the third wheel with you and Joanna,” Jim said firmly, holding up a hand.  “You haven’t even spent twenty-four hours with her.  It’s Easter morning in Georgia, you are here with me when you should be with her.  That’s not right, and I’d just be in the way”

“You are _never_ in the way,” Bones growled.

Jim grabbed his friend’s arm.  Bones knew things, like about Frank, and Sam, like how holidays normally went for Winona Kirk’s kids, planted dirtside.  “I always know that, and I’m grateful.  You have no idea how grateful.”  Bones swallowed thickly and looked away.

“We just got you back, Jimmy,” he said roughly.  “You almost gave me a heart attack when Spock comm’ed me today.  Not that he’s doing much better.”

“Spock?”

Bones looked at Jim strangely. “You and he have been getting along.”

Jim nodded slowly, not following.  “Well, yeah.  We’re friends.”

“Friends,” Bones repeated, disbelieving.  “The Vulcan said you were _friends_?”

“Well, he doesn’t need to say it aloud, does he?” Jim asked defensively.  Spock had acknowledged during Jim’s (somewhat) final moments that Jim was Spock’s friend, but never specifically voiced any reciprocal feelings.  “I think opening his home to me says it all.  Uhura said so.”

“I bet she loved that,” Bones said under his breath.  Before he could go on, Spock opened the door and Sulu, Chekov, and Mama Chekov followed.

“Good to see you awake, sir,” Chekov said, offering a wan smile.  “We were all wery worried.”

Bones rolled his eyes.  “You two might have come in handy if you two weren’t so _wery busy_ ,” he said meaningfully, and Chekov flushed pink.

“Mrs. Chekov has calculated the approximate time in which the ionic anomaly should disperse,” Spock said, oblivious to Chekov and Sulu’s embarrassment.  He had a stack of real paper in his hands with ink notations.  This accounted for where his navigator got his innate ability to do complex calculations in his head.

“So how long?” Bones grumbled.

“Four hours, unless someone is alerted to our predicament, which is improbably, and is able to replicate our technique with the phaser modulation,” Spock replied.  Jim sighed.

“Well, looks like we should hunker down for a few hours,” Jim said.

“Meester Spock,” Mrs. Chekov said, eying Spock’s lean frame, still draped with blankets.  “You must be hungry.  I have kirghiz, beef, da?  And borscht?  Very filling, good for cold Wulcans.”

“Mama,” Chekov said, before Spock could respond.  “Meester Spock is a wegetarian.”

“Wegetarian?” she repeated, shocked, but then quickly recovered, nodding enthusiastically.  “Then I make you chicken, da?”

Before anyone could correct her, she bustled off to the kitchen.  Chekov winced, glancing at Spock.  “I will explain to her,” he assured the Vulcan, and took off after his mother.

“Borscht,” Bones mused aloud.  “I had a Nana that would make me eat that sometimes.  Nasty stuff.”

“Well you haven't had Mama Chekov's,” Jim said.  “I didn’t think it was half bad.”

Bone looked sharply at Jim.  “You ate it?”

Jim froze, realizing his mistake, trying to backpedal.  “Now Bones, you yourself said that without the proper medical equipment--”

“Dammit Jim, how many times do I have to tell you:  _if it’s pink, rethink_!”

“It’s just your superstition!  I’m not going to live my entire avoiding pink things.  It’s-- it’s-- it’s _illogical_ , isn’t it Spock?”  Jim turned to his First Officer with hopeful eyes.

Spock glanced between his Captain and the CMO, surprised to find himself drawn into this argument.  “Perhaps this discussion can wait until we are at a medical facility?”

“Traitor,” Jim and Bones muttered.  Spock merely raised an eyebrow and didn’t comment.

A few minutes later, Chekov and Mama Chekov came in carrying a plate of vegetarian cuisine.  

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Chekov, this is quite satisfactory,” Spock said, accepting the steaming plate.  She beamed at the Vulcan.

“You call me Mama,” she said, patting his head.  Spock's eyes widened, but he didn’t flinch at the motherly contact, silently watching her leave.

“Well, anyone have any ideas of how to contact the outside world when this ion cloud blows over?” Jim asked to no one in particular.  “I don’t feel like walking all the way to Yakutsk.”  He looked at Spock, wrapped in blankets and doubted the Vulcan could withstand the frozen climate that long.

“All repairs will have to wait until the anomaly has dissipated, Keptin,” Chekov said

Sulu nodded, chiming in.  “The communications systems in this ionic cloud are really shot to shit.  Sir.  May take an hour to repair the systems, provided the tools we use are functional.”

Jim grimaced.  “Well, I guess it’s just survival mode until then.  Maybe if we could rig up--” and Jim paused, staring at Spock’s plate.  “What are you eating?”

“I believe these are lentils, various cheeses, and mashed potatoes,” Spock said.  With those magic words, a light went off in Jim’s head.

“Gentlemen,” Jim announced, “we have a way out. Chekov, I need seven spoons.  Bones give me your medical tricorder.  Spock--”

Spock passed him his untouched plate of mashed potatoes without question.  Jim smiled, and could have swore he saw an answering glint in Spock’s eyes.  “Can I procure any bearskins for you, Captain?”

“No Commander,” Jim replied.  “I told you, it’s for my next project.”

Which cemented it in Jim's mind, beyond a shadow of a doubt: Spock was his friend.

\----

The distress signal was the most genius thing Jim had ever accomplished with silverware.  He had donated his creation to the munchkin army, who delighted in attempting to replicate it with other types of cutlery, but discovered (as Jim had, while in the hospital) that forks, knives, and salad tongs did not work as well as spoons.  They were now hypothesizing meat cleavers or ladles, and promised to keep Jim updated with their developments.

They were rescued in record time: the ionic anomaly was dissipated, and Jim, Bones, and Spock got an emergency beam back to the Starfleet Medical in San Francisco.  They bid the Chekov clan farewell, and Jim received an extra farewell hug from Ivanna (Inga?), which prompted Spock to ask if he would miss anything about Russia.

"Not on your life," Jim said, confused Spock would even ask such a thing.  " _Dasvidaniya_ forever, I think."

Bones was able to convince Jocelyn to let Joanna come to San Fransisco and and spend the day and Easter Monday with her dad.  By the time that Jim was checked out (it was the beets in the borscht, afterall) and the three of them left to meet Joanna at the transporation terminal, it was still Easter morning in California.

“At least someone will get a normal Easter,” Jim commented to Spock, watching Bones sweep his daughter up in an enthusiastic hug as she walked out of the shuttle bay.

Spock inclined his head thoughtfully.  “Captain, if you would like, we could make a stop at the commissary and purchase a rabbit made of cocoa.”

“No, I don’t think that would be wise after today," Jim said, grinning.  Then he suddenly remembered.  "Aren’t you going to Saharan State University?”

Spock shook his head.  “It was not a pressing matter,” Spock said.  Before Jim could pry, he continued.  “You contacted me today, during your illness, asking about a personal matter.”

Jim winced.  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t in my right mind.  I wouldn't pry like that.”  Okay, maybe he would.

“No, you misunderstand, it was a matter concerning you.  Something I have been remiss in explaining, and I believe it is causing you undue stress” Spock said stiffly, a green flush tinging the tips of his ear.  Jim couldn't beleive it- Spock was finally admitting to the secret plot?  “I should have said, weeks ago, but it is difficult to voice it, for a Vulcan.  Our relationship, now going beyond that of a professional one, it would seem that--”

Jim suddenly understood, and should have realized by now what it was Spock was "hiding."  

“Spock, it’s okay.  I already know.”

Spock stopped, his eyes wide.  “You do?”

Jim nodded.  “You don’t need to say it, the past few weeks you’ve demonstrated it in terms any Human could understand.”

"I was unaware of your understanding,"  Spock said slowly.  “I admit, I am not entirely sure what it means for myself.”

Jim found that a little endearing, knowing he was probably Spock's first real friend.  “Well, we have years to figure that out together, don’t we?”

Spock nodded thoughtfully.  “Indeed.”

... continued in "A Logical Match"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *falls over, exhausted* I'm DONE! DONE I TELL YOU!
> 
> Dear readers, this has been another wonderful journey, thank you, each and every one of you, for your kind thoughts, feedback, and feelings (even the tormented ones) about this little story. I make it a point to respond to each and every comment because you really do brighten my day. May that goodness follow you back.
> 
> Peace and long life, gentle readers.


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